


Crossroad

by helena_s_renn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Impala Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crossroad is a metaphor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroad

**Author's Note:**

> While crossroads and crossroad demons are common themes throughout the years in Supernatural, neither such concepts appearing in this fic are in the literal sense.
> 
> Fantasy portions appear in _italics._
> 
> Beta by ChristianHowe.

_“I jerk off Jensen onto the ground... and then I give him a shot in the face?” _  
-Jared Padalecki__

*/*/*/*

It starts just like that, somewhere between a plea for direction, a joke and a Freudian slip. The second the words leave his mouth, Jared is bombarded with imagery, against his will and against all wisdom.

He throws back his head and laughs. Of course he does, because everyone knows he has the worst case of hoof-in-mouth disease ever and they kind of expect that streams of embarrassing and inappropriate commentary will spill from his lips every single day of his life and it’s all good. Never mind that the hard-on straining in his shorts might go down, like, never.

He’s totally glad, though, that his long Sammy shirt hides his actual reaction to the imagery Kripke accidentally put in his head, here at the end of all things. Long days, short nights, watching ball games on weekends, hiking, clubbing and Jared’s always managed to hide the white elephant of his infatuation. At the beginning, it was lust and fun. Well, lust on his part. But he really cared, he did. He’s gone five years, three girlfriends and two fiancées, kept his mouth shut without seriously endangering his own life by giving in to...

_It’s like Cas snapped his fingers and stopped the space-time continuum, just for them. Gave them their own bubble in time, to have this thing that they shouldn’t want, shouldn’t have, but have to._

Dammit, shut up. It’s his fantasy. He can do what he wants with it!

_No one was on set but them and the Impala. They’re leaning against the front of it, facing, dressed in Sam and Dean’s clothes. All around, the huge sound stage is empty semi-darkness, too quiet. Only the distant hum of generators, the buzzing of lights far overhead, like those in a high school gymnasium, and their harsh breathing interspersed with occasional low groans can be heard. Jensen is in his arms. Or he’s in Jensen’s. Jared’s not sure, because even standing, or leaning rather, each of them with a hip planted against the hood, it’s a toss-up as to which has the upper hand. Nor is he sure who moved on who first. It really doesn’t matter because here they are, bodies pressing in close and he’s telling Jensen that he loves him, finally, and Jensen understands and doesn’t judge. They’ve hugged so many times it’s more like comfort, just holding. All new, hands and mouths on each other, Jensen’s lips brushing his neck, pushing up into his hair. “Always wanted to do that,” he murmurs. Teeth clamp down, once, twice, and Jared feels suction so sudden it stings._

_“Oh, god...” He’s never eloquent at times like this. That’s for before, flirting, and pillow talk after if he’s lucky. “’S right, Jen...”_

_What skin they can get at in these clothes is not enough; they’re conscious of the costumes because when they’re done, shooting will begin, and the evidence must be gone._

_Cupping Jensen’s upturned face in both hands, Jared hungrily lowers his mouth. He can feel the snarl of his own intense want and the jittering, unsure tension of Jensen's body, but it’s gone as soon as he feels surrender, then consent. Green eyes blink up at him, lashes catching at the corners. They crash, sucking at lower lips, one then the other; tongues dart and flicker, warm and wet. Jared inhales taste and scent, breathes his own off Jensen’s exhale in a groan. Already, everything is starting to spin; he tightens his arms around Jensen, wanting to crush his body into him, merge their cells. A drawing back, then Jensen slides hands down Jared’s ass, tugging at him. Aggressive now, Jensen pries his mouth open, and his tongue slides past teeth, to lick and curl over inner surfaces. Telling him he’s being invaded, Jared’s mind goes on the offensive and he mimics the motion, tickling the tiny ridges on the top of Jensen's palate. "I’m gonna die," he whines, legs and spine and hip joints gone languid and indolent. ___

_"You're not gonna die." Kiss. "But I might make you gooshy..." Kiss. "Make every one of your brain cells melt..." Jensen grabs the back of Jared's neck and squeezes, "Gonna kiss that mouth," and he does, perfectly, "till you beg me... gonna make you."_

_He doesn't say beg for what, but they're well on their way there, hell, it's been a lead-up of years. One part of him isn’t gooshy at all. Jared wishes that his dick didn’t necessarily react to his feelings. It complicates things, adds the gutter dimension that this isn’t at all. Not for him, anyway. The physical manifestation is always sex, it just is. It’s what humans do, what they are. The love swelling in his chest is just as important as what’s undeniable, in his pants._

_Jensen rocks against him. In recognition of that hard line of cock against his thigh, Jared’s body funnels more blood to his groin. Stealthy fingertips land on bare skin at the small of his back under his shirts. Five thousand nerve endings sing Halleluiah and pull him into a wanton arch; another hand clenched into his ass cheek tightens. Jared flexes his butt, and Jensen laughes soundlessly. Breath whuffs from him, and Jared sucks in another of his own. It’s like he’s breathing Jensen in, into himself. He would take the man in, in any way he could. Breathe, drink, snort, inject: It’s life to him. He needs so much more. Jared grinds his erection into Jensen’s belly, bringing one hand up to splay his fingers into the short, spiky hair at the back of Jensen’s head, as if to cradle it._

_“Touch me,” Jared whispers, a hiss of sibilance and a tiny moan dispersing into the still cavernous hall around them. He’s hopeful; he knows what he wants but not sure what will happen, till the fingers that had been scritching just above the too-sensitive back dimples scuttle around front and begin to pick at his belt buckle._

_Jensen leans back a few degrees. His face is flushed, eyes luminous, lips spit-slick, parted. “Yesssssss.”_

_Clumsy as they feel, Jared’s fingers are quick and sure on buttons of Jensen’s - Dean's - plaid shirt. Pushing it aside, he yanks the tee-shirt below up. The skin beneath is smooth, supple, firm and still winter-pale. There, those perfect pink nipples. He bends to lick the rosy skin and it erects under his tongue while he pinches the other, fingertips teasing the perky little nub. Jensen hisses, yanks him back up and, dropping the shirts to the ground, unceremoniously shoves his hand down the front of Jared’s jeans and boxers. Though it makes no sense, Jared glances around them, blushing at the same time his cock fills to capacity, sure someone is going to walk in on them. His dick is raging in the encircling blunt fingers. If he can’t get his hands on Jensen, too, he’s going to die. ___

_First, he needs to be bare. Skin crying for the freedom of air, Jared gets his jacket and two shirts thrown off, and he loosens his Sam jeans till they threaten to fall off his hips. Jensen’s naked chest thumps lightly against his and he’s gone, winding them together by way of arms around, legs twined, tongues twisting together from kiss to kiss._

_But it can’t go on forever. He can’t breathe. His body wants to gulp and inhale, and he's glutted. His balls ache with the need to expel. It’s a sliver away from too much; Jared's almost too needy to stop himself if Jensen keeps rubbing up against him like that. He takes the friction offered from the side of Jensen's hip, like a forfeit._

_"No..." Just in time, in one step back, Jared breaks away, twists and bends Jensen down over the shiny black hood, all that freckled skin sheened, dancing with every shift. As Dean’s jeans slide down, Jensen reaches backwards to hand him lube, only... he’s already prepped, begging in a reedy voice – his own, higher than Dean’s, and it sounds like he’s about to cry – to fucking take him now, for Jared to open him up on his dick._

_Myriad gasps, some full of growls and grunts, accompany the first stop-start invasion, the drive home. After the first inch, Jared breaks out in sweat. He has so far to go. Under him, goddamn yes under him, Jensen cries out, strident in their little sphere. Every new little push, he moans again till Jared is wild, his balls hardening, impossibly contracted. And he’s not even all the way in yet. He can’t lose it like an adolescent now. Elbows crooked and hands tucked in under his cheek, Jensen turns his head to the side and looks up with one eye. “Yeah, god, c’mon, just go on. Do it.”_

_‘Do it.’ Always that. Could he even fuck without hearing that?_

Of course he fucking can.

_But fuck! How long since Jensen last bottomed? He is virgin-tight, and Jared would castrate himself before hurting him. Jared feeds himself in, in, trying not to hyperventilate over the slick heat closing around him, made for him; nothing and no one has ever been like this._

_Out of nowhere, much too late to do anything about it if... Jared has to know. "Jen," he moans, going motionless. "You've done this before... right?" His big left paw clutches Jensen’s hip, he can feel the heavy bone under skin and muscle._

_"Little late to ask," pants Jensen. "Yeah, yeah, I have, before." His visible eye spears Jared. "But not in years. Now fuck me like you mean it – move your ass!"_

_Shimmering, hormone-infused heat and lust shakes Jared's body; he pulls back till only the head of him is in, Jensen’s tight clench dragging at every inch of him, then lunges forward. Now he’s in, and there’s none of this semi-polite fully-sheathed, fully-seated crap, he’s got his dick nine inches up Jensen’s ass and he’s fucking him like he owns him, biting and scratching, he feels huge and powerful, like he could snap the man in half if he wanted, though obviously he doesn’t. This is as it should be, as it was meant to be: Jared fighting to hold him where he wants him, more or less successful, Jensen egging him on with every feral look and every backward thrust of his butt._

_This had better not be the only time. But it isn’t._ It isn’t. It’s probably the five hundred twenty-third time or something that they first fucked in Jared’s mind. Ask his sheets. And his underwear. He’d lost actual count around eighteen. And it’s probably going to be another five thousand times before he dies. Shut the hell up. Like he said before - it’s his fantasy.

_What he wants now is for Jensen to not just take everything he has, ‘cuz he already sort of is, but get off on it. “Uhh... uh yeah....” Jared is vocal, he doesn’t care what spews out when he gets going. “Fuck yeah, you’re hot inside, wanna stuff you full.”_

_Half-laughing, Jensen answers him, muffled, “And you’re not? Never had this... never.” The awe in his voice wrecks Jared._

_“You got it now, baby. As much as you want, as much as you can handle, all of me.” Jared speeds up a little. The way he moves during sex, the rut and bunch, and the way sex moves him meshes with Jensen’s squirming on his belly on the shiny black hood._

_“I know. You’re so...Gotta make it feel so good for you. Can take you...” ___

_“Yeah, take it all.”_

_It’s not that easy, nor should it be. He can’t just plow Jensen’s back forty and expect that to be enough. He needs more, too. His balls feel like they’re bound in coils of string which cinch tighter and tighter, that the constricting webs will crush his gonads, and when they do that string’s gonna melt through his skin and shoot out all over again, only it won’t be string but gooey liquid love. Bending forward, he lets his hands roam free, because he can. Still between Jensen’s kicked-part legs, still thrusting, Jared runs his fingers and palms over every inch he can reach. “You’re gonna... have to... gimme more, you want that.” His mouth tingles, like his lips are buzzing. Jared licks at the outer wing of the shoulder blade, presses a kiss there, then more up to the back of Jensen’s neck._

_Jensen is practically drooling, mouth slack and slurring the words. “I. Need. You to. Come in. Me. GetmeoffpleaseJaredgod...!”_

_“Give it up for me, Jensen,” he bleats. More confidently, “I want to feel you come... hear you. Let it go for me, baby.” Jared straightens up again. Palms slide down to grasp Jensen’s buttcheeks, one in each, pulling them apart so he can watch. Watch everything._

_There, the breadth of those shoulders with their thick curves of muscle, flex and release in rolling hills, valleys. Down the spine, all the way to tailbone, almost to where they join, and Jensen arches, pushes his butt back. Jared holds him down and lays his torso on top, so that their bodies can touch and rub together – his chest to belly button, the planes of his six-pack kissing that perfect arch of spine. He can feel gooseflesh risen all over Jensen’s back, gets high off knowing he did that._

_Yet he’s being neglectful in one way; Jared smoothes a hand around one flank, till he finds the erection he hasn’t had near enough of playing with. Butts his hips forward till his balls hurt even more from mashing them between Jensen’s thighs, or his, or both but he can’t stop this doesn’t want to. His thumb curls in small circles around and around in the wet at the tip, smearing sticky-gooey. With thrusts of his own, Jensen coats the inside of Jared’s fist with it, fucking his hand as Jared rams him so hard. Their waists, hips, asses, legs hump together in clumsy orchestration. ___

_"Please, Jared, you're killing me, need to...!"_

_How the hell can he not comply? Jared speeds his thrusts, dick pushing and pulling through the clench of slippery rim and slick heat behind. His right hand strokes that thick shaft, thumb locked over the tip of his middle fingernail for a better grip. God, so fucking hot and rigid! Big and thick and built for hard use, just like everything about Jensen's body. Only, Jared is bigger yet and it's so fucking perfect, topping this man._

_Jensen goes first, head thrown back like he’s howling his pleasure at the moon, eyes squeezed tight while he empties himself, comes in Jared's hand and streaks the car, the rest falling between their feet in warm drips. Loud, tortured, they groan through it. Jared grinds till he's two seconds from blowing his load, pulls out, crowds in, manhandles Jensen till he's off the car and sinking to his knees. All it takes is four or five pumps of his own hand while Jared allows the flared head of himself to rest on that sex-swollen lower lip..._

_"I love you!" he cries. Jensen doesn't laugh at him, that's all that really matters. Streaks of cream blast from him, relief so profound Jared nearly laughs. It's all over, shots across Jensen's cheek and into his short sideburn, his mouth of course, the bridge of his nose just over the little bump, one one clinging to his earlobe... the prophesy fulfilled..._

*/*/*/*

...without giving in to... it.

Other than in the privacy of Jared's own trailer or his own room or his own mind.

And now, there it is: out. So to speak.

Jensen looks at him funny and then guffaws and makes a rude hand gesture. In return, Jared does the funky dance for a second, then settles. He goes back to his mark. Back behind his mask. Around them, people fiddle with lights and sound equipment.

The awareness between them is heightened. Jensen might be slightly more reserved than Jared - who isn't? - but that doesn’t stop him from pulling any manner of stupid faces or calling attention to his crotch or ass or posing in self-mocking male-model inanity. What he’s doing now is none of the above.

Not quite. His tee-shirt has ridden up far enough that Jared can see his fly. It's a no-no, something the network has grown careful about in the last couple of years. On an average day, the accidental picture brings drool flooding into Jared's mouth. Right now, half-hidden behind Jensen’s too-casual hand placement, what's going on behind that zipper is on display for his eyes only, and speaking of which, Jensen’s eyes – or maybe Dean’s eyes – are doing that thing Jared’s never once been on the receiving end of yet but could draw in his sleep if he could draw at all. Lids half-down like he’s stoned. Inner and outer corners more acute. Lashes curled up. Irises going more toward hazel. It says ‘come hither’ and ‘you think these lips are only made for talking?’ and ‘I’m going to fuck you stupid’ all rolled into one, with a side of “bitch” and topped with ‘and maybe I’ll be your cockslut if you’re good enough’.

Whichever, Jensen is so not going to let Jared get away with that line, what fell out of his mouth and _onto the motherfucking ground,_ without some sort of payback. And that – it only makes it harder to get through the difficult scenes. He thanks the powers that be that Misha and Jim and Jake are there alleviate some of the pressure. If they'd been shooting the end of Season 2 or 3 again, he didn’t know what he’d have done. Probably rubbed off on Jensen while one or the other of them died. Other than, he supposes, he’d do whatever they told him to. Which is why he asked his question that came out all wrong and now he has to live with it. If not forever, then till the end of the day, or the end of tomorrow, or maybe the next day, and then he can get on with his life.

He runs. They let him. Usually it’s Jensen who needs to ‘walk it off’ at the end of an intense interplay, so the fact that it’s Jared who is rabid to get out of there makes it easier to get away with bolting. Half of him wishes Jensen would come after him, but it doesn’t happen.

In two hours plus the time it takes for another shower with benefits, Jared convinces himself that he’ll never see the fucker again, other than to finish his coverage and what they’re contractually obligated for. There might be a few more Cons and of course the DVD release and then...? A big fat nothing. He’s morosely mourning the loss of his best friend and, let’s face it, spank bank material when Clif honks and he drags his feet, not wanting to rattle around all night in the house they share.

Jensen isn’t home. That’s just as well. Jared will do everything he can to play it off; he just needs a night to recover his accustomed headspace. Why did the fucker have to flirt with him now, of all times? So they've been touchy-feely and better than real brothers since the beginning... Till today, the hot, insistent needy-pulling love-lust thing belonged to Jared alone. Like Sam belonging to Lucifer. Only, maybe... not.

No. He can't let himself consider it. Not again.

Because tomorrow is only five hours away. They didn’t get all the shots, probably thanks to him. He’ll have to live through it all over again, plus the wrap party.

He does. He lives. Well, he has to, right? It’s his job. Everyone in the business is pretty much just one major screw-up from being blackballed, and if he thinks he wants to work in it again, he'll do whatever it takes.

Speaking of balled, what it takes is: in the morning, before setting foot on the lot, Jared makes damn sure he won’t be speaking out of his blueballs today. Twice. He woke up with an erection too persistent to be explained by a morning piss hard-on, naked, lying on his belly, his ass working to fuck his cock into whatever bunched-up sheets are handy, the remnants of one of those hyper-intense, highly sexual dreams fresh upon his retinas. In it, _Jensen's spread out under him, only somehow Jared's the one with a cock up his ass. He fucks and gets fucked, watchful green eyes boring through him, Jensen's lips open, swollen, breathless. Jensen is_ gone _, like he’s surprised by what they’re doing and how it’s making him feel, but damned if he doesn't demand more with every single roll of his hips and scratch of his short nails into Jared's back._

By then, Jared's more than halfway to exploding, tension curling around his spine, making his asshole tingle. With a groan, he mashes his face down into the pillow, spreads his knees wide, so wide it’s like he was on fours and got pushed down. Almost, so close... he fucks, he humps, his fantasy-Jensen gets coated belly-chest-face full of fantasy-Jared’s uncontrolled gallon of jizz, while his real-time cotton sheet soaks up his less-imaginary but even more relief-laden half-dozen spurts and miscellaneous dribbles of spunk.

Jared groans as he finishes and flops onto his back. Now he stinks like sex. The reference and the release make him giggle like a little boy, which he hasn’t been in forever. There’s bitter darkness under the bright amusement. Just like Sam. Jared isn’t Method. He doesn’t do this shit. So why is he?

The second encounter with his right hand comes minutes before his ride honks outside. He whacks off in the shower, hard cock in hand and balls screaming for mercy, trying to coax it out of himself as a preventative. He finally comes and has to throw on clothes and go out with wet hair into the freezing pre-dawn. It should get him through at least half a day.

In the SUV, there’d been coffee. Some comfort, anyway. Then he arrives on set, and there is no time and no point what-so-ever in thinking in that direction again. Not today.

Whatever the day entailed, it’s a blur. Fight scene. Make-up. More takes of the fight scene. Make-up. More takes. Diving into the cage. Castiel: “Hey! Assbutt!” The Impala again. Jared is painfully aware of Jensen – his scent, his presence. His unfailing response to direction, and their interplay.

Late in the afternoon, word comes down. They’ve been renewed. It is the best, worst, most anticlimactic moment in Jared’s life. If he doesn’t crack in front of everyone, he’ll congratulate himself soundly and call it a miracle. If he does, well, most actors succumb to a psychotic break or two, don’t they?

Jared waits for the final cut, and strides off set. Behind him, he hears surprised blurts and voices low and conspiratory. First and foremost in his ears, even as he retreats, Jensen’s distinct low rumble, a bit of a twang now that he can drop the Midwest non-accent. He’s projecting a ‘what the fuck’ tone in spades, irritated-sounding, but Jared keeps walking.

Fin.


End file.
